Something’s off.

I can't pinpoint why, but when my spouse wraps their arm around me, their breathing shaky and tense, I know something’s wrong. They absently stroke my chest, but they're not sleeping or speaking—lost in their own world. I can't reach them, even if I tried.

It reminds me of when they used to pull away, leaving me battling my own rage. But that was years ago. We’ve been through it, overcome it.

After we got together, they sometimes used their old habit of distancing themselves when upset. We talked about it early on, and I told them how much it hurt when I felt shut out. Since then, they've learned to communicate better, and we’ve reached a point where we don't need words to understand each other.

But tonight feels different. Ever since they got out of bed earlier, they've been different. And while I want to shake the answers out of them, I force myself to wait.

And wait.

And fucking wait.

The silence is unbearable. I reach out, running my fingers through their hair. After all these years, I still can't get enough of them.

I still think about all the years we lost and can't get back.

I'm still trapped at that moment when I thought I'd lose them forever.

Then, they sigh, breaking the silence. "Ash?"

"Yeah?"

"I think we made a mistake."

"About what?"

They bury their face in my chest. "Remember when Kill brought us those mice and said he could see inside them?"

I tense. "When we realized he's like her. Of course I remember."

"He was only seven."

"And already showing signs."

"That’s not the point. We must’ve made him feel like a monster." They look up at me with a pained expression. "He told Glyndon he thinks I’ve been scared of him. Our son thinks I've been afraid of him this whole time. What do we do?"

"Hey." I sit up and bring them with me and they sniffle, their tears soaking their cheeks and my thumb as I try to wipe them away. "It's okay."